The Walk of Shame
by Broken Kylo Ren
Summary: What happens when Andrea and Daryl start fucking behind everyones back?


In the end, all it takes to bring sex into the picture is a frustrating day, a late night visit to his tent and a few bold moves on her part.

"I think we should keep this to ourselves," Andrea says afterward, slipping her t-shirt on over her head.

Lying back against his sleeping bag watching her dress, Daryl nods his head. "Probably a good idea."

"I mean, you get it, right?" She shoves her feet into her shoes. "It's not you."

"It's them."

"Exactly. They can just be so…"

"I get it."

She pauses, her hand playing with the zipper around the entrance. "This was fun," she says with a wide smile.

Daryl ducks his head sheepishly, the corner of his lip starting to turn upward. "Yeah."

She stares at him a few more moments, but unzips the tent before the temptation to stay tugs too strongly. "Good night."

"Night."

As she darts back to her own sleeping quarters, she's pretty sure they're going to be doing that again.

"If this is going to be a thing with us, we need some ground rules," Andrea tells him a week and multiple encounters later.

He raises an eyebrow and looks up at her from where he'd been kissing and licking along her stomach. "We have to talk about this right now?"

"Yes. Just listen for a minute." She props herself up on her elbows to see him better. "I still don't think we should tell anyone about… you know. This."

"Fine with me," he says with a snort. He rests his chin against her hip bone. "You think I want to get caught up in all their gossip and dramatic bullshit?"

She chuckles. "Exactly. Which means that we keep doing what we've been doing – we'll wait until dark and make sure we're out before sunrise."

"We could always go off during the day and do it in the woods, too," he says with a crooked smile.

She crinkles her nose, but grins anyway. "We'll see."

"We will see." He presses a kiss just under her navel, and she shivers.

"I think that's it." Her breath hitches when he kisses along the edge of her panties. "Anything else you can think of?"

Daryl slips a finger under the elastic and snaps her underwear against her skin. "Try not to make too much noise when you come."

"I don't—" she starts, but he presses his mouth lower and she gasps a little too loudly. Damn it. "Yeah, okay."

For a while, their plan works.

They act exactly the same as they always have around each other. Vaguely comfortable, with some occasional scowling from Daryl and eye-rolling from Andrea. They hardly spend any one-on-one time together, save for trips into the woods so Daryl can purportedly teach her how to track.

Once it gets dark and everyone retires for the night, he'll sneak over to her tent, or she'll sneak over to his, and Andrea tries very hard to keep herself quiet. They part ways after they're done for the night, and the next day, no one's the wiser.

It's perfect, and they're happier than they've been in quite a while, and it just works.

Until it doesn't.

"Oh, no."

Andrea bolts upright, jostling Daryl's arms away from her body and accidentally elbowing him in the face in the process.

"Ow!" he cries, startling awake. "What the—"

She pounces on him, covering his mouth with her hand. "Shh!"

"What are you doing?" he mumbles, lips moving against her palm.

"I must've fallen asleep last night," she says quietly. "Shit."

He squints at the sun coming in through the mesh window. "Shit," he echoes. "What'd you do that for? I should've been up hours ago."

"Are you serious?" she whisper-yells, her eyes wide.

He rubs at his eyes, frowning. "Hell, I can't remember the last time I wasn't up before sunrise. You had to get all clingy and screw me up."

"Daryl! Focus." She listens for a moment and hears ambient chatting outside. "Shit, they're all up. I'm sure they're wondering where we are."

"Okay." He looks sort of nonplussed, and she wants to throttle him a little. "Now what?"

"Apparently, now I slink out of here like a slutty college student going back to my dorm."

He reaches for his pants. "Slink, huh?"

"Daryl."

"Just walk out," he says, sounding far too rational than she's comfortable with at the moment. "Fuck it. If they know, they know."

She bites her bottom lip anxiously. "If they know, we're the new stars of the living soap opera that is this camp."

"Then stay here forever," he says, rolling his eyes. "Your choice."

She presses the heels of her hands to her eyelids. "Can you just dig a hole and bury me in it?"

"Yeah, I don't think so." He smirks and lightly smacks her butt. "Come on, get dressed. Going out there naked ain't going to help."

"Ugh. Fine." Her hair is barely still in its holder, so she pulls the elastic band out and attempts to make herself presentable. "Let's do this. Find my bra."

She decides to make Daryl walk out first, thinking desperately that if he can distract the others with his presence, she'll be able to sneak around the other way and make a dash for her own tent.

For a minute, it's a brilliant plan. In her head, she's confident that it'll work, and she'll be able to avoid an awkward confrontation with the rest of the camp, and she and Daryl can continue having sexy, secret sex.

That is, until they unzip the tent to find Lori ten feet away, striding right toward them.

Fucking Lori, she thinks.

"Daryl, I was just coming to find you," Lori starts, moving closer. "Can you help…"

As she takes in Andrea standing behind him, the words die on her lips and her mouth gapes open.

"Help what?" Daryl asks, trying to salvage the situation.

It's a valiant effort, but Lori's not paying attention to him anymore. "Andrea?"

"Morning, Lori," she says grudgingly.

Lori's bug eyes go from Daryl, just wanting to get on with things already, to Andrea, wishing he'd dug that hole like she'd asked. "Why were you in Daryl's tent?" she asks.

For his part, Daryl just stands there, as if she won't see or talk to him if he doesn't move a muscle.

Oh, fuck it, Andrea thinks. "Why do you think?"

"I…" She's clearly searching for the right words, and Andrea doesn't feel like hanging around until she finds them.

"See you later, Daryl," she says, already walking away. "Lori."

By now, others have noticed the little confrontation and watch as Andrea breaks away. Self-consciously, she smoothes her still-messy hair back and tugs on her shirt to hide the bite mark at the base of her neck before doing the walk of shame across the lawn to her tent.

Her sleeping quarters, she thinks, have never been farther away from Daryl's. The trek feels even longer with the sun shining like a spotlight on her unkempt figure.

One foot in front of the other, she tells herself. They can't see the mark on your neck. Or your hip. Or the inside of your thigh. They don't know what happened in there last night.

Except, the rational part of her yells, they probably do – or will, once Lori recovers her ability to speak.

Outside her tent, she pauses to look around, feeling too many eyes on her, catching her name and Daryl's in whispered conversations.

"What?" she asks, annoyed and loud enough for everyone to hear. When they all turn back to whatever they were doing, she shakes her head and ducks into her tent.

Cowards.

Once everyone knows that she and Daryl spent the night together, things get weird for Andrea.

Being the girl that Daryl Dixon is fucking is a brand new experience for her, not unlike being an animal in a zoo. They all watch her – hell, she's practically squirming under their barely-hidden scrutiny – but no one attempts to get too close or ask any questions.

She can only guess what they're saying when she's not around.

At dinner, she drops into the empty chair next to him and can almost feel the breeze from everyone's heads turning to look at them.

Beside her, he keeps his head down and concentrates on his food. It's not that he's oblivious; she knows that he's far too aware for that. She suspects he just doesn't want to deal with the attentions of the group. Jerk.

She can't help herself, though, and lets herself watch for a moment as people try to casually glance up at her and Daryl.

Shane's looking at her with a weird sort of sneer, like he can't understand the leap she's made after their (admittedly regrettable) encounter in the car.

Dale looks like the father who just found out his daughter's going out with a boy who has tattoos and rides a motorcycle. She tries not to think about how accurate that is or isn't.

Glenn just looks baffled. The girls look a little too interested.

Andrea glares at the stupid look on Shane's face and decides that's enough of a reaction, instead mirroring her pseudo-boyfriend and channeling her annoyance into stabbing at the meat on her plate with a fork. She figures it's better than stabbing one of her campmates.

That night, she decides she's not going to bother sneaking out anymore.

"What?" he asks, pulling away to look at her.

"I said, I'm staying here tonight." She yanks her t-shirt over her head and tosses it in the corner. "Fuck it, right?"

He keeps his distance, eyes going from her face to her chest and back again. "But what about –"

"I don't care," she interjects, sighing. Her fingers play with the button on his pants. "What happened… happened. It's stupid to pretend it didn't."

He pushes the straps of her bra down her arms. "So, they all know, and we're in the soap opera, and now you don't care anymore?"

"No, I don't," she says, and she thinks she might mean it, almost. Her eyes narrow at him. "Do you?"

He shrugs. "I guess not. Too late to care, anyway." He kisses along her bared shoulders.

"That settles it, then," she says, running a hand through his hair. He nips at her skin, and she grips the strands tighter. "I'm not leaving tonight."

"All right," he says warily. "Don't be offended or anything if I'm gone when you get up, though."

She snorts in response. "And here I was expecting breakfast in bed."

"Shut up," he mumbles.

"A regular Prince Charming," she giggles.

For three days, no one brings it up, and Andrea starts to let her guard down.

Maybe, she thinks, they don't actually care at all. Maybe she was being silly. Making a mountain out of a molehill. She could kick herself, really, for being so egotistical as to think the rest of the camp would really care whose tent she's sleeping in.

It's fine. She and Daryl spend their nights together, and everyone knows, and no one bothers them, and it's all fine, until Lori and Maggie and Carol approach her while she's hanging laundry.

"Need some help?" Lori asks.

She shakes her head. "No, thanks."

"It's just…" She fingers a worn, torn flannel shirt that is most definitely not Andrea's. "It looks like you've got some extra clothes these days."

Andrea turns to face them, and they're all grinning at her.

"Guys," she warns lightly, frowning.

"What? Come on," Maggie says. "Lighten up. We were waiting for you to say something, but… we're tired of waiting."

"I just don't think it's anyone's business," says Andrea.

"How did it happen?" Lori presses.

Andrea sighs and shrugs her shoulders, a smile starting to tug at her lips. "How did it happen? How does it ever happen?"

Lori rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but honey, this is Daryl Dixon."

"I don't know. I guess maybe there'd been a sort of tension between us for a while, and then it just kind of… snapped."

"So, the other day… that was the first time?"

"Not exactly," Andrea admits with a smirk.

Lori gapes at her. "Seriously?"

"How long has it been going on?" Carol asks.

"Not long. A couple of weeks, I think."

Lori nods her head. "Wow."

"I can't believe you kept this from us!" says Maggie.

"We just don't want it to be a whole… thing," Andrea says with a grimace. "We don't want a lot of attention is all."

"Aw," Maggie teases. "'We.'"

Lori narrows her eyes. "Wait a second. Is this why you've been going out on hunting trips with him lately? Learning to track, or so you said?"

Andrea's cheeks color.

"Damn," Maggie says, and they all laugh lightly.

"Okay, well is he… I don't know, romantic?" Lori asks. The word sounds foreign on her tongue, like it's the last question about Daryl Dixon she ever thought she'd be asking.

"Daryl?" Maggie snorts, clearly thinking along the same lines.

"I bet he could be," Carol chimes in. "He can be very sweet when he wants to be."

Andrea searches for the right thing to say. "He's… Daryl," she says. "You know."

They all nod. Daryl might've come out of his shell a bit with Merle gone, but he's not exactly a social butterfly. He's still alone more often than not, and though they try not to push his buttons, the part of him that's kind of a hothead lurks just beneath the surface.

"But?" Lori pushes.

"But when he lets his guard down, he's… yeah, he's sweet, and funny, and thoughtful…" She trails off, not wanting to wander into something that could be described as swooning. "There are more layers to Daryl than people think," she says simply.

"I bet," smirks Maggie. "So what's he like? In the sack?"

"What?" Andrea's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "Seriously?"

"Oh, come on. If we can't talk about this stuff amongst us girls, who can we, right?"

Andrea looks to Carol and Lori for assistance and finds none. Instead, they stare, waiting for her to answer. Traitors.

"He's… all right, listen, he was a little shy at first."

"I can see that," Lori says.

"I had to initiate everything, to be honest."

Maggie laughs. "Get yours, girl."

"But he, uh…" Andrea feels her face get hot. "He gained some confidence pretty quickly."

"Better now, then?"

"Oh, yes."

"He does have that angry energy about him," Lori says, and Andrea thinks she knows what that kind of energy is like.

"Yes, he does." She can't stop herself from full-on grinning.

Maggie speaks up again. "How big is it?"

It's so bold that the women are quiet for a few moments before bursting into hysterical, cackling laughter. Andrea's jaw drops, her face flushing wildly as she laughs.

"Maggie!" cries Lori.

"Oh, please! Like you're not curious." Maggie narrows her eyes at Andrea. "Come on. You want to tell us. Give us the dirt. How big is it?"

Oh, fuck it, she thinks. "Well, it's not like I have a tape measure hanging around when we're… you know, doing it," Andrea says.

"Estimate," Carol suggests, making Lori snigger.

Andrea looks like the cat that ate the canary. "Let's just say… I'm not complaining."

"I knew it," Maggie says. "You can just tell."

"Oh, geez, Maggie."

"What's going on over here?" a voice drawls.

Four heads turn to see Daryl standing a few feet away, eyes narrowed, lips starting to twitch upward in the corners. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares as they just stand there like deer caught in headlights.

"Just finishing up some laundry," Andrea says with a smile. "What's up?"

He shrugs. "I'm heading out for a while. I know you wanted a tracking lesson."

"Oh, great," she says. She tries really hard not to smile when she gestures toward the clothes. "Would you guys mind…?"

"No," Lori says, shooing her away. "Go."

"Have fun," Maggie says with a grin.

Andrea takes Daryl's arm and steers him away from the women, waving over her shoulder as they go.

She's got to pick pieces of bark and leaf out of her hair afterward, but their tracking lesson is totally worth it.

"What were you all talking about before?" Daryl asks as he steps away from her and pulls up his cargo pants.

She reaches back and rehooks her bra. "Nothing, really," she says.

He quirks an eyebrow. "You were laughing like hyenas over nothing?"

"Yeah," Andrea shrugs. "Just talking, you know. They acknowledged… this… and it's all good. No drama."

He nods his head. "All right." They adjust their clothing in silence for a few moments, until he says, "Hope you didn't short change me, though."

She laughs lightly and pointedly lets her gaze drift south. "Never."


End file.
